


Hunted and Haunted

by fabricdragon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, 00Q Reverse Big Bang, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Q, Betrayal, Brainwashing, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Guilt, Hallucinations, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Past Torture, Post-Canon, Post-SPECTRE, Pre-Slash, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Tattooed Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Post Spectre: Max Denbigh (C) is dead, Franz Oberhauser (Blofeld) is in custody, James Bond has gone off to retire with Madeline Swann and all is well with the world... except Bond keeps seeing things that simply can't be there, and his dreams are very disturbing... and Q finds out his past is about to come back and bite him.Written for the 00Q reverse Big Bang, i chose the artwork by themuller labeled "Hunted"(and half way through I got a plot bunny for a totally different story, which i may someday write based on the same image)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themuller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The artwork by themuller

  
image shows Q, apparently nude, kneeling. holding Bond fully dressed in a suit, but bleeding from the torso. they are in front of a very large tree trunk. Q is looking over his shoulder to behind the tree. the background is all fire, with the Spectre image in the flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am having a fight with the image posting. in case you cannot see it the image is here:  
> http://themuller13.tumblr.com/image/169920927571


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is with Madeline in Europe, still suffering the aftereffects of torture and possible brain damage.   
> Back in England Q discovers something very troubling.

Bond woke up from another troubled dream: he was vanishing slowly into fog, and eventually no one could see him at all–trapped as a ghost unable to touch anyone–while the voice of Franz Oberhauser echoed around him. Bond came awake with a faint start; hand going by reflex for a weapon–he glanced over and was relieved he hadn’t woken Madeline.

He’d told Madeline that he didn’t remember his dreams, mostly because, as a psychiatrist, she seemed incapable of letting it go as simply a nightmare: she always wanted to make him talk about their meaning and impact on his life. Bond glanced back at her hair spilling over the pillow as he went out for a cigarette; she was such a gentle soul.

He stood at the railing and watched the smoke trail off into the early morning air. It was pale grey smoke against a slowly lightening grey sky. _Seems like a metaphor for my life somehow_ , Bond mused as he tried to put the nightmare behind him.

As the last wisps of his cigarette drifted into the pale cool light, Madeline walked up behind him. _She’s like smoke herself…_

“Another nightmare?” She laid a cool hand on his shoulder.

“Occupational hazard… of my old occupation,” Bond answered with a shrug. Her hand on his shoulder bothered him somehow.

She moved her hand up to the side of his head, gently. “I have work to do today… Will you be–”

Bond turned into her hand and took it with his own, bringing it to his mouth and kissing her palm. “I’m fine. I just need to get out a bit. I’ll go for a bit of a jog and bring back something sweet.”

She smiled and said teasingly, “Better not be another blonde.”

“I was thinking of chocolate, but now that you mention it…”

She laughed and kissed him. “Go. I’ll try to wrap up early; perhaps we can have an afternoon outing.”

He watched her walk back inside, her pale nightgown reminiscent of the gown she had worn… on the train? Bond shut his eyes and saw her walking toward him, pale silk gown… she’d been wearing black when he first saw her in her office, and black when…

_“He won’t even remember… just a pretty face…”_

Bond shook his head and got dressed to go out.

He jogged aimlessly, enjoying the cool morning air, watching his breath mist… like smoke, like a pale room, like the fog rolling in… Bond leaned against a support and shook his head. The day had cleared. It was still grey and overcast, but there wasn’t any fog, of course, just damage from Franz’s torture. Bond sat down on a concrete retaining wall and tried to remember why they were here again.

Madeline tried to help him, but…

_“Nothing but a passing pretty face…”_ Franz’s voice trailed and garbled in his mind. _“Just an innocent victim. It’s working perfectly. He’ll love you when we’re done.”_

_No… No… He had said he wouldn’t… remember… loving…_ Bond slowly got up and walked back toward their flat, stopping at the little shop with the chocolates. Vesper stood outside the shop looking sadly at him through the window… He blinked and she was gone.

After he got back Bond sat quietly in their rented flat, thinking, wondering how long it would be before he couldn’t trust anything he saw– he hadn’t told Madeline he was seeing things, only about the increasing fogginess of his vision in the mornings _. I’m not going to be able to protect her anymore,_ Bond thought sadly as he waited for her to finish her work. _We’ve had three assassination attempts, and at this rate…_

When she came in she stopped immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Bond smiled tiredly, “The same thing that’s been wrong, Madeline: you need to practice with a gun, it’s been getting worse.”

“The nightmares? But that–”

“I can handle the nightmares–I always have, they aren’t that new–but my vision is getting worse at an increasing rate. You need–”

“I despise using a gun, James.” She moved into his arms. “You worry too much.” Her hand reached up to brush the side of his face.

“I worry about you, chéri,” Bond sighed as the tension left his shoulders. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You’ll never lose me, James,” Madeline murmured. “Never.”

They stayed like that for a while: Madeline’s fingers running gently over his scalp, pausing occasionally as they touched a scar. Eventually they ate an early supper and the chocolates, then walked quietly along the river until it was dark.

Madeline pretended she didn’t notice when he stumbled slightly as the lights dimmed.

~

Q was working alone after hours. He’d been doing it a lot lately: he got more work done when there weren’t constant interruptions. Right now there were no critical missions, and the only Double O out in the field was still in the information gathering phase, so didn’t need direct monitoring.

_Not that there were many Double Os still on active duty._

M was trying to recruit new agents to fill in for all the agents they’d lost, but even the few that had passed the first stage were not ready for Double O status yet–Q doubted most of them would ever make it. Tanner was trying to coax the few living retired agents back; at least as instructors–so far it was… alarming… how many had died under mysterious circumstances after retirement.

Thinking about that, Q quietly opened the Smart Blood program to check on Bond again…

Alive, markers showing stress and possible depression… Q frowned. He had been happy when he ran off with that woman, but all the readings since had been showed increasing stress…

_I knew he’d get tired of her_ , Q thought with vicious satisfaction. _He was just chasing his youth, more than likely_. Q sighed; given how badly they needed instructors M would probably take the bastard back, too.

Q moved to shut the program down and…

The Smart Blood tracking program had been accessed… for James Bond… last week… during a time that Q had been very busy and hadn’t checked on Bond at all…

A cold chill crept down Q’s spine. No one should have access to this except him, now that the Nine Eyes program was shut down, and C was dead…

_Unless C had shared the access with someone?_ Q frowned. _We’d changed the codes, access had been restricted, but… if someone already had a back door we hadn’t found, it could be… problematic._

He shut down the program and went back to work. He knew better than to alert anyone watching him to the fact that anything had been noticed.

He made an appointment for tomorrow, ostensibly to talk to M about an ongoing issue with migrating the servers, and went home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uncertainty and unexpected revelations...  
> personal status: it's complicated

“What do you mean someone else has accessed the Smart Blood program?” Tanner stared at Q, appalled, while M started rubbing his forehead.

“Exactly that, Sir. I checked, and the Smart Blood program has been accessed at least three times, possibly more, by someone who did a very good job of covering their tracks.” Q sighed. “It all reads as if I was doing it. If I hadn’t noticed that it had been accessed when I was too busy to have done so, and I know I didn’t do so, I would never have known.”

“Who could have done that?” M asked tiredly.

“I am fairly certain no one could have just gotten past the defenses on my network, but… certain individuals, like Max Denbigh had access before and they could have–” Q saw the look that passed between the two men and frowned, “What am I missing?”

“You believe C could have given someone a back door in?” Tanner asked thoughtfully.

“It’s possible.”

Q watched the two men carefully and could practically see collusion between them. _Now what would they be hiding about C, even from me…?_ “He’s not dead? I thought he was dead?” They both flinched. _A hit, a most palpable hit._

“What makes you think he’s alive?” Tanner asked, all bland innocence.

“I have to sort through Double O’s telling me fairy tales about their equipment, Mister Tanner; you two are fairly transparent.” Q said in his driest voice, but internally  he was reeling. “He’s alive, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” M admitted, “but he’s been in a coma, only just started coming out of it recently: responsive to sounds and occasionally trying to respond to people before drifting back down. It’s unlikely we’ll be able to get any answers.”

“WHY didn’t you just shoot the bastard then?” Q sighed and started rubbing his head. _Max… Max was alive_.  Q didn’t know whether to be over joyed or dismayed.

Tanner cleared his throat. “My call, I’m afraid, made on the spur of the moment when I realized he wasn’t dead. All the information he had… I saw the chance to get a jump on Spectre and…” Tanner looked apologetic at M. “If I had known he would be in a coma, I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

“He may yet be able to be interrogated,” M sighed. “The organization is hardly defunct; any information about other members would be invaluable.”

“Let me go see him,” Q interjected.

“What?” Tanner looked up startled.

“Why?” M asked.

“If he’s in a coma–a light one now, from what you say–he may talk or respond to a familiar voice.”

M frowned, “Is that likely?”

Q sighed, “Yes, actually. It’s hardly guaranteed, but coma patients who have woken up reportedly recognized and responded to familiar voices. If nothing else, it may help his recovery.”

“You think your voice will be familiar?”

Q chose his words carefully, “He was… interested in me, Sir. I was never certain if it was personal or… if he was trying to recruit me, or both, but…” Q sighed and tried to reassure himself, “He can’t hurt me from a hospital bed.”

“No, no he can’t,” M agreed. “Especially not an MI6 secure rehab facility. Agreed.”

Q nodded. “Give me two days to make arrangements. I expect the rehab facility is out of London so I will need to take a day off?”

Tanner nodded.

“Very well. Now, as to what I was checking the Smart Blood FOR,” Q continued. “As you both know, Bond was not well when he left…”

“He was tortured,” M said plainly, “and with intent to cause brain injury. That’s not counting the accumulated injuries and the prior torture he’d suffered, nor the explosions in rescuing Doctor Swann. He’s lucky he escaped mostly intact.”

“Yes, yes,” Q waved a hand. “But I know you two expected him to get better, with rest and–”

“Few Double Os get to retire, Quartermaster,” Tanner said gently, “as you know from the research we’ve been doing–”

“And apparently damn few survive after retiring!” Q snapped. “Because someone kills them! Well, someone has been accessing Bond’s tracers!”

Q could see the moment both men realized the implications and smiled bitterly. “Yes, indeed. Someone appears to be using MI6 resources to track down our agents. In addition, Bond’s medical monitors are actually showing that he is NOT improving. All his medical indications have been showing increased stress, depression, and more. Unfortunately I can’t get details, but to my eye it looks like he would be better off back at MI6.”

Tanner looked at him thoughtfully. “Is there any chance that’s a matter of personal bias, Quartermaster?”

Q bit back several responses. “While I do not think so, at the moment we have a desperate need for instructors, and a high likelihood that someone is attempting to kill him, in addition to the fact that his health appears to be taking a downward turn. Whatever my personal opinions for or against, I think we need him, and he would be better off under medical supervision in a secure environment.” Q gave Mallory a level glare. “…Sir.”

M nodded ever so slightly, “I agree. I’ll try to get through to him.”

Tanner nodded, “Send Moneypenny, they have a better history.”

M frowned, “I thought she had shot him?”

“For Bond? That’s almost flirting.” Q snorted, “Yes, Eve gets along with him well, send her.” He nodded, “Two days.”

Q went back to work and set about making certain that the department could manage without him for a day or two mid-week.

_Probably should have R babysit the cats, just in case._

_…Max was alive…_

~

_Bond was restrained, and Madeline was being hurt…_

_No, she was watching him being hurt…_

_She was begging Franz not to hurt Bond…_

_She was standing by the equipment directing a man he didn’t know…_

_“Bring him up to level three, and then start program ‘Defender’ ,” Madeline said calmly to the technician, and then walked over to Bond. “James? James…?”_

“James?”

Bond came awake with a start and grabbed for his gun–it wasn’t there.

“You were having a nightmare… Are you alright?” Madeline asked him quietly. She was standing a few feet from the bed, holding his gun.

“You… You’re alright?” Bond asked, looking her over carefully for any sign of injury. _She was torturing me…_ “You were being hurt… Horrible nightmare.”

Her face softened. “I wasn’t certain what you were dreaming about. You said my name, and then begged me not to hurt you?”

_She has a gun, what if_ … A memory of Vesper’s hallucination in the bakery flashed in front of him and he suddenly knew what to say. “Vesper,” he said, falling back onto the bed. He forced himself to stare at the ceiling and not watch the gun. “You were going to die in front of me like she did…”

He heard the soft click of a safety going back on and Madeline handed him back his gun. “I’m sorry I took your gun James–” _She spoke so kindly…_

_I have to be wrong. I have to be_. “Probably for the best. Waking up like that… might have done something foolish.” He put the gun down and took her hands. “Madeline, I’m not getting better.” He put every bit of concern into his eyes. “I need you to spend more time on the range. I know you don’t like guns, but I need to know you can hit a target if you have to…”

She lowered her eyelashes and smiled faintly, “I trust you.”

James pulled her close. They made love, and he spent time covering her skin with kisses, trailing his fingers over her like she was porcelain. Eventually she had to work on a paper online and James went into the shower.

The water was pouring over him and he leaned into the tile and breathed in the steam…

He was, without question, hallucinating–at least occasionally.

He was having nightmares that seemed more like… distorted memories, but memories of things happening differently.

Bond thought carefully about drugs, and some of the extraordinary brainwashing techniques that the ordinary civilians were never supposed to know about–most of which had a rather high likelihood of leaving the victim unstable, or a vegetable.

Either Franz had tortured him, damaged enough in his brain that his mind was starting to come apart and generate paranoid fears–not unreasonable ones based on his past–or his memories of his torture had been tampered with–replaced.

The problem is… _either way, I can’t be certain if I can trust myself._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it paranoia if you're right?

Q arrived at a remote and peaceful-looking private home. In actual fact, it was an MI6 recovery and rehabilitation facility–someplace to stash a Double O until they were back on their feet–with top-of-the-line security. Part of the security was, of course, the fact that it was remote, and looked like a private home: if anyone looked more closely or questioned deliveries, they would find out that it was a very quiet nursing home for Alzheimer’s patients–they would also garner a great deal of attention from MI5 and MI6.

“We were informed you would be arriving,” a nurse said politely as he escorted Q in. “Do you understand that he may, or may not, even respond to you?”

“I actually know a bit about coma patients,” Q nodded. “How much reaction is he showing? Has he been awake at all?”

“He started waking up recently, reacts as if he is coherent and awake, and then goes back to sleep–he usually doesn’t remember the next time.” The nurse smiled politely and handed him off to someone who was supposed to be a doctor, but looked far more like a guard.

“I’d prefer to go in alone,” Q said, expecting an argument.

“Once I am certain your presence won’t agitate him, I can leave,” the man nodded at him. “But I am afraid you can’t take in any electronics or weapons.”

Q sighed. It was entirely reasonable, if annoying. After having his laptop, phone, gun, pen, and a few things he’d forgotten he was carrying put into a storage locker, he was allowed in. The doctor came in and stood quietly behind him as he sat down on the visitor’s chair.

C–Max–was lying on the bed. He looked well, if very pale, and somewhat thinner than the last time Q had seen him.

“Hello, Max,” Q spoke softly but as much as he could in his normal voice. “I thought you were dead until just a few days ago…”

Max opened his eyes and tracked slowly over at Q, “Hello, gorgeous.”

A bit taken aback, Q tried to remember that any normal inhibitions were likely gone. “I never was certain if you were trying to recruit me, or flirt with me again…”

Alarm bells were ringing in Q’s mind as Max answered, “The two are not mutually exclusive…”

_Too alert, too coherent, way too–_

He felt the sting as the doctor injected him, saw Max smile and sit up, and just had time to hit the button on his watch...

_I hope Eve got to Bond…_

~

Bond, after making sure that Madeline was settled in for the morning and the security on the new flat was tight, went out for a jog. Lately it was more of a ramble as he tried to collect his thoughts, but for the sake of his ego he referred to it as a jog. He passed Eve Moneypenny sitting on a bench and sighed. _Well, that was a first… It was usually M–the old M–or Vesper… always women though, wonder why_.

When he orbited around that part of the park again she was still there. He decided to take a chance and sat down on the bench behind her, tipping his head back to watch the clouds.

“James?” Eve’s voice, soft as a whisper.

“Are you real, I wonder? None of you have ever spoken before…”

Eve paused a very long time. “I was supposed to contact you because the Quartermaster said you were not doing well, and to warn you about potential assassins… I… uh… What do you mean ‘Am I real?’”

“So far I’ve seen several women from my past, but they always vanish when I turn to look at them; you were still here on the second go round.” Now that he thought about it, he could feel the heat of a person behind him–assuming it wasn’t a real person that he only imagined was Eve…

“I think they’re right, you need to come in and see medical…”

“I probably do,” James admitted, “but I don’t know how much of my memories I can trust… If I’m right, I have some problems close at hand.”

“I’m going to hand you something: Q sent it.” He felt a thin, hard object brush his back and he quietly took it and slipped it into his pocket.

“Come back. You need medical and we need you.”

“I’ll never be field capable again,” James said, and it hurt to say out loud what he’d been thinking for quite some time.

“…I’ll see you in London,” she said, and got up and walked away.

Bond didn’t look at his new acquisition until he was having a coffee later. It was a small eReader, the kind that didn’t have a phone or a camera, but could only download books. He pressed his thumb to it and touched the ‘Q?’ button; a new screen opened up with full computer and phone access. _Bless that messy-haired boffin_. There was a file folder on that screen, with documents in it: dates, health records–Bond frowned–and a note:

_Bond,_

_I admit I was occasionally checking in on you, but there are at least three checks on your Smart Blood that were not from me, although they routed through our computers. Most of the other retired Double Os are dead in ‘accidents’ and it looks like someone may be tracking you with that in mind. I have created a false trail: unless I unlock the program, your traces will follow the enclosed map; I suggest you don’t go there._

_I am pursuing a lead, but I don’t hold out much hope. Get back to MI6 and get checked out, bring her if you absolutely must._

_Q_

 

Bond looked at the map as he let his mind wander, then he closed that section and went back to the eReader and opened a book; he pretended to read for a while. When he looked up, M was standing in the doorway and looked meaningfully at him and then tapped her watch–an old, old habit of hers that meant he was wasting time…

When he looked again she was gone, but it was true: he was wasting time.

…

“Madeline?” Bond called from the kitchen of the flat. “You need to eat, you know.”

She came in and slipped her arms around him. “Are you feeling better?”

“A bit of fresh air and movement always seems to help–so does cooking–” He sighed, “but… I don’t like the lines of sight on this building very much; you said you could arrange a more secure place to stay?”

“I was doing just that,” she smiled and raised a hand, brushing his scalp with her fingers…

_Distorted faces… Madeline’s voice: “You can save me, you can save me where you failed everyone else”… pain… white light…_

He came to on the floor with Madeline’s worried face looking down on him…

_Madeline, cool and professional, looking down at him, “Is it finished?”_

“Wrr? Madeline?”

“James? You… You had a seizure, I think…”

He let her help him up and take him to the sofa. He clutched her hand when she tried to leave. “I told you, darling, I won’t be able to protect you…”

“You’ll be fine; we’ll go to a friend’s estate… There’s a private clinic nearby specializing in brain trauma; I… I didn’t want to promise until I made certain we could go, but… you’ll get better...”

…

It didn’t take much for him to feign sleep–in fact, it took effort to stay awake–but soon enough the drugs he’d slipped into her dinner left her sound asleep, and he slipped out of the bed. He took the ‘eReader’ and hooked it up to her computer and started the program running…

_Eve had been real. Someone had accessed the Smart Blood. There was still a mole in MI6._ Bond tried to fix that firmly in mind. _Q… Q had been trying to keep an eye on him… Why?_

The program finished its run and he quietly put the laptop back the way it had been.

If Madeline was innocent, then he still might lead assassins to her–even with the false trail–but taking her back to MI6 could be a death sentence until they found the leak. _If Madeline wasn’t innocent…_

_If she isn’t innocent–if she did something to me–then going to a private brain clinic is the last thing I want to do._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past relationships and "audiobooks"

Bond settled Madeline in for her usual work in the morning and went off on his ‘jog’. He’d seen glimpses of M along his path–or, at least, a woman who looked like her from a distance, and never was as he got closer–and had just seen Vesper again, when the pocket with his eReader vibrated faintly. He glanced away to get it and when he looked back Vesper was gone.

He found a place to sit and started reading. There was a notice that he had a new book to download; when he opened it, he found a file listing ‘audiobooks’. Curious, he slipped one ear bud in–leaving one ear clear to hear any problems–and opened it.

 

“Careful! Don’t let his head hit the floor.”

“Yes, sir…”

 _The first voice sounded like Max Denbigh_?! The second he didn’t know but…

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve decided to keep you: I’ll even see if I can get a few of your old playmates to come along.”

A slurred voice–it might have been Q–“How…”

“Still a bit conscious? Lovely…” Max’s voice and then the rustle of fabrics.

Bond heard a faint but distressed moan and his grip tightened on the eReader.

After a pause, the unknown voice said, “He’s out, sir.”

“Strip him completely and search him–run the scan over him for implants, too. According to the download that went into MI6 last night, my dear rival is taking her guard dog to the clinic: we’ll get there first.”

“You want them to work on this one, sir?”

“And risk damaging that mind? Not at all: other methods work well enough.”

After that there was just noise of fabric, clicking, and a door.

 

If he wasn’t completely hallucinating… _big if…_ then Max Denbigh was alive, and he had Q. If he wasn’t having paranoid delusions, then Madeline was Spectre–always had been–and the download from her computer had fallen into the hands of the mole inside MI6.

So had Madeline damaged his mind? Or Franz? And how much of what he heard, or saw, could he trust? Bond looked at the eReader in his hand: it was real, and hadn’t flickered out of existence, but how much of its contents was he seeing–or hearing–correctly?

He couldn’t contact anyone in MI6, the mole inside might find out…

He needed to get to the clinic, but he needed to get there on his own terms, or at least without Madeline being able to cause a problem…

Bond considered: they were not far from a contact of his–a contact who knew him only as an import/export executive with illegal habits.

Bond jogged back to the flat, passing M on the way–who gave him a look that may as well have shouted “About time, Bond!”

“Madeline?” He put worry in his voice, keeping his gun out and low.

“James?” She came out of her office and froze.

“Thank God!” He holstered his gun. “Pack, we have to move–I took down another assassin not far from here.”

She reacted calmly and smoothly, as she had every time before, and packed quickly and efficiently. Bond had the car loaded and was checking it for bugs–and explosives–by the time she came down. This time he found something.

“Madeline, please tell me you see this too?” Bond held out the device he’d found attached to the undercarriage.

She looked appalled. “That’s a tracer!” She looked up at him, “Yes, James, it’s real. Are… Are you seeing things?”

“Occasionally. Usually it’s just… I would swear that was a person I know–most of whom are dead–and then they turn and… they don’t even look like her.” He cursed the slip.

“Her?”

“Vesper, mostly, M sometimes, a few others…”

Her face softened. “People you miss, people you’ve told me you feel guilty about…”

He gambled on a phrase, “I couldn’t save them, Madeline–I’ll save you.”

He turned to get rid of the tracer and watched Madeline in the reflections on the car–her smile was anything but kind. “I know you will, James.”

~

Q woke up feeling like he had a mouth full of cotton–moldy cotton–and his eyes wouldn’t focus. He tried to squint at the blur that kept moving in front of him, and then his glasses were put back on his face. The blur resolved into Max Denbigh: he was lying in a bed, and Max was leaning over him. For just a moment, he was young and foolish again…

Max held a cup of liquid to his mouth. Q drank it: there was no point in not doing so. “Max…” Q sighed, “Why?”

“Do you know how much I wanted to utterly destroy you?”

“I rather imagine.” Q tried to keep his voice calm. _Nude, I’m nude…_ “I didn’t get the impression you liked to lose.”

Max ran a finger down Q’s throat; it stopped at something– _A collar?–_ and continued trailing down his chest. “Oh, I utterly despise losing. Even aside from ancient history, I thought we were in agreement that the Double O program was outdated–the future belonged to the computer age–and then you go and throw your lot in with the old guard…”

“Until I was more familiar with field operations, Max, I honestly didn’t believe that we needed–” Max’s finger moved further down over Q’s stomach and Q tried to move away.

“You used to be so much more… friendly.” Max’s voice was light, but his expression was dangerous.

“You didn’t used to order me tortured.”

“I didn’t order it, darling boy… Did you think I did?”

“It was Spectre, you and I both know it: your people.” Q took a breath and tried to steel his nerves and keep his voice from shaking, “And it’s not very friendly to have me kidnapped when I came to see you.”

Max sat down on the bed and looked at him with no expression. “Did you honestly not know I was alive?”

“I found out two days ago–two days before I came to see you,” Q corrected. “I thought you were dead.” Q couldn’t help but continue bitterly, “I tried to save you, you know–to catch you.”

“Even though you thought I had you tortured? You’re too kind…” Max laughed, “Did you? Did you really try? I remember seeing your face as I fell… It was the last thing I saw before I woke up in MI6’s clutches: your face.”

“Reflex… Why, Max? I thought…” _I thought we had something once_. “I honestly thought you wanted what was best for England…”

“I want what’s best for me,” Max corrected. “England would have benefited as well, but now Spectre is tearing itself apart with factions vying for control, and the world is being taken along for a ride.”

“So now what?” Q didn’t think he wanted to know, but not knowing was worse.

“Now I take over Spectre,” Max smiled down at him, “and you are going to help me.”

Q stared at him incredulously. “You drugged me–”

“Very carefully!”

“You kidnapped me–”

“Well, yes?”

“You have me restrained naked in a bed–”

“You liked it last time.”

Q lost his composure and shouted, “Last time was voluntary and I had a safe word!”

“True.” Max pulled his hand away. “And I thought you had just ghosted on me, or been killed, and then you turned up just fine working in MI6: I was… upset. It’s why I was so cautious about recruiting you–or flirting–when I saw you again.”

“I got ARRESTED!” Q struggled to sit up and clutched the sheet over himself. “I got caught hacking into something way over my head and told to work for MI6 or rot in jail!”

“And you never got back in touch? Even after you became Quartermaster? Or tried to talk to me when we saw each other again?”

“I… I’d managed to bury my past.” _Not deeply enough, apparently._

“That’s true: once I saw you, I started digging–it took work. You could have spoken with me, though, or at least acknowledged that we knew each other.”

“You didn’t,” Q retorted, “And I doubt either of us wanted to explain how we knew each other!”.

“Point,” Max sighed. “Shall we start over?”

“I’m still kidnapped and collared naked in a bed: hardly a good start.”

Max grinned down at him, “I certainly enjoy it… and, as I said, you did last time.”

“This isn’t voluntary,” Q managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“Then I won’t touch you until it is.” Max leaned down and let his lips almost but not quite brush Q’s ear. “Tell me, did you let Bond do any of that to you? Was he as good as I am?”

“You’re out of your mind!” Q pulled away as far as he could. “Bond only knows I exist when he wants something!” Q glared at him. “Alright, he’s a LOT like you… but there has never been anything between us except work.”

“Really? You two looked… close.”

“Are you telling me you kidnapped me because you’re JEALOUS?”

“No, if I was just jealous I would have…” Max smiled. “Never mind. Anyway, he’ll be here soon, and if you do care about him he’ll make a lovely leash–if not? Well, he might be interesting to play with.”

“What?” Q stared at him. “Why… What are you talking about?”

“The Pale Queen and her White Knight are on their way here… Apparently, she needs to do a bit more work on his brain. We’ll be waiting for them.”

“The pale… Dr. Swann?” Q stared at him and felt the color leave his own face. “She’s a pacifist… He left MI6 for her…”

“She despises personal violence, but she’s hardly a pacifist–just doesn’t have the balls to pull a trigger herself–but she is, or was, Spectre’s chief brainwashing expert.” Max put a hand on Q’s cheek. “It was suggested that I use her techniques on you, darling, but… I decided not to risk that mind just to get control of that beautiful body: say thank you.”

Q stared up at him and wondered if he’d always been like this–if he’d just missed it before when he was young and thought he had all the answers. _Stay calm, gather intelligence_ … “She’s… Spectre? She… brainwashed Bond?”

Max leaned down and kissed him very gently on the lips. “If you want him, I’ll make a present of him for you… But you? If you’d just stayed with me… But I believe you, you had no choice. Still, you didn’t have to oppose me once you knew.”

“I’m…” Q shook his head, “Just shoot me, Max: I won’t work for you, and you’d never be able to trust me with a computer–you know that.”

“We’ll see.” Max ruffled his hair, then stood up. “There’s a buzzer next to the bed if you need anything–don’t give the guards an excuse to get rough, they like it too much–and I’ll be back later.” He paused at the door and looked back at Q. “And I suggest you consider your situation, Q: if you want to help Britain, you should join me: none of the rest of them fighting for the crown have any love for Britain; you could influence things for the better.”

He left and Q fell backwards against the pillows. _Bedside table, buzzer, a dresser against the wall–no windows, of course._ His hands being free, he felt the collar around his neck: heavy, and locked with a padlock. The chain was short and attached to the bed.

He was looking around, trying to see the cameras–this was Max, there had to be cameras–when a woman walked in carrying a bag. She looked Q over with an assessing stare that was intensely unnerving; he pulled the sheets further over himself.

“I’m Doctor Vogel,” she said as she took blood drawing equipment out of her bag. “We already removed your tracers–lovely work, by the way–and started your blood tests. I’m just doing a quick check on your recovery.”

“You what? And… blood tests?”

“Mister Denbigh, if you will pardon the pun, has his eyes on you.” She smiled, and Q thought her face might crack from the unexpected use of the muscles. “Lucky you, or we would already have had you on the auction block–your information is worth a fortune,” she eyed him over again, “aside from your physical charms. Where did you get the tattoo?”

“Paid for it with my first big score as a hacker,” Q answered, since Max already knew that. He lay quietly and let her draw blood: there was no point in arguing, and he didn’t want to damage his arm.

She finished up and nodded approvingly, “Cooperation will go a long way toward your comfort.”

“I’ll try to bear that in mind.”

“I’ll have the guards give you a longer leash, so you can move around a bit.”

“…Thank you?”

“You are an asset of Spectre…?” She paused, waiting for him to fill in his name.

“Call me Q. I got used to it and I’ve used that name longer than almost any other.”

She nodded, “You are an asset of Spectre according to Mister Denbigh, Q. I am in… asset management: it is my job to ensure that you are fit to your purpose… whatever that is. Good day.” She gathered up her things and walked out, sensible heels clicking firmly on the floor as soon as she stepped off the carpet.

Q fell back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. _Bond… was being brought here by Doctor Swann, and there was going to be an ambush… and Bond didn’t even know she was Spectre, or that she had brainwashed him._

_I have to find a way to warn someone…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> convergence  
> (see TW in notes if needed- they are tagged)

Bond drove cautiously, using all the avoidance techniques he knew. “Unfortunately, we’ll have to switch cars: I should have realized this car is far too identifiable even without a tracer.” He didn’t have to feign the bitterness and self-recrimination: _I should have realized._

“Of course, James.”

She kept her hands to herself during the drive. _She usually kept her hands to herself when I was doing anything that could be dangerous, if I lost consciousness, or… lost time_. Bond drove–he could very nearly do that in his sleep–and considered. _She touches my scalp… where the drill_ –he shuddered and the car wobbled.

“James?”

“We should have lost any tails; can you drive for a while?”

“Yes. You never told me where we were going, though.”

He told her and she looked surprised as she got into the driver’s seat. “We’ve gone well out of our way for that–that was almost where we started!”

“Precisely.”

She nodded and asked, “Can I take the shortest route to there now?”

“It should be safe to.” Bond took off his jacket and folded it into a pillow. “I need to catch a few winks; I’ll need to make contacts once we get there.”

She drove competently and carefully, while he leaned against the window and considered.

…

After getting her settled into a rather forgettable place, he took the car and drove off to meet his contact. He pulled over after a few minutes and checked the car, and himself, but didn’t find anything. He pulled out the eReader and opened the secure section to send a text.

“Query?”

Not very long after he sent that he got a reply, “Apple.”

 _Eve? Why is she…? Please let that recording be wrong._ “Alone for now, but your end unsecure. She wants to go to a brain clinic–sending recording I received.” He sent the “audio book” and waited.

After a while he received a reply, “Water damage can be tricky, thanks for telling me. Will revise status on missing persons. Answer query at all costs.”

So they knew Q was missing, wanted him to try to retrieve him… and Eve would hunt for the leak.

He considered his capabilities: his hallucinations had mostly been visual, and, as Madeline said, mostly women he felt guilty about failing… so, while he probably couldn’t trust his eyes on anything fleeting, there was no reason to mistrust audio, tangible objects… or Q.

He continued to his contact and traded in the car for something less easily recognized, and picked up several obvious pieces of equipment–and a few unobvious ones.

He would play along: Madeline would take him to the clinic… where Max Denbigh was waiting…

 _If I’m lucky, they take each other out and I can rescue Q in the confusion_. Bond just hoped that Q was holding out: he’d been worked over before, but everyone had a breaking point, and Bond shuddered to think about the things that were likely happening to him.

~

Q was bored senseless. He’d never thought you could be bored while simultaneously being terrified–or at least anxious–but apparently you could.

The guard–who did indeed look like he would enjoy being rough if given an opportunity–came in and changed the chain on his collar for a longer line: it didn’t help much, although it let him sit up and do some stretching. He identified several likely locations for cameras: again, not all that helpful. He had to buzz for someone to take him to the bathroom, and they looked entirely too alert for his liking, and didn’t give him any privacy at all–which made actually using the bathroom intensely awkward.

Max came in with food at some point–Q was guessing dinner, but, having no idea what time it had been when he had woken up, it was just a guess.

“I’m told you’ve been sensible so far.”

“I’m not stupid, Max, just apparently a bit naive.” Q sighed, “And what do I have to do to get dinner?”

“Put your hands behind your back.” Max waved a finger at him.

 _Play docile_ , Q thought. _What is it Bond used to mutter? ‘Survive, observe, report’_? Q carefully put his hands behind him and tried not to tense as Max fastened the cuffs.

“You always were such a delightful submissive,” Max sighed.

Q bit back quite a number of retorts about it being a nice change of pace at the time and forced himself to stay quiet. As he’d expected, Max started feeding him forkfuls of dinner–he hadn’t expected it to be quite this good.

“I’d compliment your chef, but I don’t really want to know.”

Max fed him dinner and touched him a bit more than was needed while doing so, but nothing overt. “You’re officially listed as missing presumed dead, at this point,” Max said with a smile. “So am I. Of course, it will take them a while to dig through the ashes of the building and find enough to run DNA traces–by then we should have most of this wrapped up.”

“Missing Quartermasters aren’t taken lightly, Max.”

“Of course not, but they wouldn’t know where to look even if they tried.” Max shrugged and put the dishes away well out of reach. “Doctor Swann will be here soon enough, and once I get rid of her it’s only a few steps until I have control of Spectre–no one will ever find you, darling.”

“I’m never going to work for you, Max, I mean it.”

An ugly expression flashed over his face. “You will eventually. I think you’d prefer to do so voluntarily. Perhaps Mister Bond can be a good object lesson.”

Max walked out without un-cuffing Q’s hands.

Q waited, but he didn’t come back. Eventually he tried to find a comfortable way to lie down without one or both of his arms going to sleep–he ended up kneeling on the carpet with his head resting on the bed: it knocked his glasses askew but it was the least uncomfortable position he could find.

After what Q estimated was at least two hours, the overly attentive bathroom guard came in.

“That’s a good position for you…”

Q looked over and took in the man’s leer. “Max likes cameras, and he’s the jealous sort.”

“Mister Denbigh is in a meeting–one which he and his bitch Vogel will never leave–and the cameras are turned off.” The guard hauled him up by the handcuffs; Q couldn’t entirely suppress the pained hiss.

“You must be a pretty damn good fuck…” the guard said casually as he pulled open his belt. “Might as well get a taste before you end up a drooling idiot.”

 _This is why I’m not a field agent, dammit! What the hell would Bond do in this situation?_ Q calculated trajectories and odds, and then decided he KNEW what Bond would do: seduce him and escape. _Well, Bond would seduce HER and escape, but details…_

“If you want to find out why Max wanted to keep me, you might want to unlock my hands–I do better work that way.” Q tried to sound turned on, but was pretty sure he just sounded scared.

“Right, and let you try to escape? Not hardly!” The guard laughed as he pulled himself out of his pants.

“I didn’t suggest unlocking my collar,” Q sighed. _If I can just get my hands free…_

The guard paused; Q took advantage of that to slip off the bed and onto his knees facing the guard. “I mean, I can work without my hands, but,” he looked up through his lashes, “Max liked what I could do with my hands.”

The guard leaned forward; rubbing himself against Q’s face–he fought not to flinch–and leaned over him to unlock the cuffs. “I don’t even have the key to your collar on me, so don’t try anything.”

Q took a deep breath and brought his hands around to the front and began running them up and down the man’s legs. He spoke quietly with his head down into the guard’s thigh, “You really should have considered something about my past.”

“Like what?”

Q pulled the man’s knife out of its ankle sheath, quiet as a whisper. “I was a thief…”

As the guard looked down puzzled, Q pushed up from his legs and headbutted into the guard’s chin; he heard the lovely sound of the man’s teeth slamming together and blood started gushing out of his mouth– _bit through his tongue apparently_. He followed up immediately by driving the knife into his solar plexus, and grabbing for the man’s holstered gun as he went down. Q pulled the knife, and holding the gun on him carefully he got back up on the bed to avoid the spreading pool of blood.

After a while the man stopped gurgling, and Q stopped shaking from the adrenaline. He carefully climbed down off the bed and shakily patted the man down, but he’d told the truth: he didn’t have a key to the collar padlock.

Q sighed and got back up on the bed. “Fuck,” he said quietly.

He took his glasses off and stared at them sadly: he paused for a moment to steady his nerves and snapped off the left temple at the hinge. He shook the slender bits of metal out of the plastic temple sleeve, and set the glasses aside as he worked on picking the lock.

He’d picked locks without looking before, but Q rather grumpily resolved to have some of the Double Os work with him on escape artistry: the angle he was forced to work with made it slow going.

As soon as the lock clicked open he got out of the collar, perched his glasses precariously on his face–hanging on by one earpiece–and jumped off the bed. Racing to the bureau, he pulled open the drawers hoping to find clothing…

“Max, if we both survive this I am going to use every single one of these on you…” Q stared into three drawers of ‘toys’, including quite a few that were well past his limits even now. Eventually he shook himself loose long enough to go back, close the lock back on the collar –let them wonder–and start putting himself together as best he could.

He liberated the ankle sheath and the holster from the guard, wrapped himself in a sheet, and carefully opened the door: seeing no one, he slipped down the hall.

Ducking down first one hallway, then another, and scavenging what equipment he could as he went, he found himself in a room that looked very much like the one Bond had described Oberhauser torturing him in.

 _Max had said he didn’t want to risk my brain…_ Q shivered. _If Doctor Swann was the brainwashing expert, and she was bringing Bond here…_ Q set to work quickly, connecting wires to containers of oxygen, cleaning solution, and power supplies inside the computer cabinet of the controls. As he was looking for more damage he could do, he found a set of surgical scrubs and a face shield in a locker; he put them on, bundled up his gear, and slipped away.

~

Max was sitting in a meeting with Doctor Vogel, wading through what seemed to be far too much paperwork, and wondering just WHY they seemed to be stalling, when Franz Oberhauser walked in with a cadre of guards.

“Max…” Franz smiled politely, “Doctor…”

“Oh is THAT why I suddenly had to look this mess over.” Max leaned back in his chair. “You always did like to make a dramatic entrance.” He kept his voice cool and glanced over to see a panicked expression on Vogel’s face– _so she hadn’t known, then._

“Indeed, and you apparently brought us a valuable piece of intellectual property–and a leverage point on James, assuming he even remembers the Quartermaster at this point.”

“You’re welcome to use him as leverage as long as you don’t damage him,” Max said calmly. “I have plans for him, however.”

“And what were your plans for me, I wonder?” Franz leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“I hadn’t decided, frankly.” Max shrugged. “I wasn’t going to be able to break you loose until I consolidated power in any event, so I rather thought I would worry about you later.”

Franz laughed, “You should have worried more about me than the Pale Queen: she’s not nearly ruthless enough to rule.”

“I’m not worried about her. She’s on her way here to ‘adjust’ Bond’s programming–I planned to eliminate her when she arrived; do you have a better idea?”

“Not at all, I agree.” Max had almost breathed a sigh of relief when Franz continued, “I just need to clean up a few loose ends first.” He nodded and his guards fired…

Max just had time to register that it was a tranquilizer dart, not a bullet, before he went down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for attempted rape by minor character


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the past is present

Bond had quietly suggested that they get moving to the clinic as soon as possible–“It would give them less time to catch up with us if anyone is still tailing us”–and he once again tried to convince Madeline to carry a gun–“What if an assassin had gotten in while I was gone?”

“I trust you, James,” she said–and it ripped at his heart to think he might be wrong–“and in any case I’m simply not going to be able to pull the trigger–but if it makes you feel better I’ll carry the spare pistol. Get some rest, darling: I’ll drive.”

As he looked out at the passing scenery her words called a memory to the surface:

_“Oh, so why do you need me?” This kid: does he even understand what we do?_

_“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.” Q, trying so hard to be authoritative and impassive–and just showing his age._

_“Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your pajamas, Q.”_

He’d been so determined to prove himself that he got cocky: fell into Silva’s trap. Bond smiled faintly to himself as he remembered how often he’d caught Q glancing at him when he thought Bond wouldn’t notice. Q never said anything, never did anything: it would have been inappropriate– _not that that ever stopped me_.

 _I used that, though,_ Bond thought, with a glimmer of something that might have been guilt. _He risked his career several times over on my word_. Bond didn’t move his hand, but the weight of the eReader in his pocket felt heavier suddenly.

 _If he’s still alive, I owe him an apology_ , Bond sighed to himself. _Several apologies_ … And then, with a degree of bitterness: _I probably got him killed too._

~

Q had to move slowly and walk purposefully through the building, occasionally ducking out of sight to avoid notice–and, when possible, set up more problems. As he got further away from the surgical suites, the face mask became more likely to be noticed: he reluctantly ditched it in a closet; scrubs alone were not as noticeable. He made it outside of the building by the simple pretense of heading out for a smoke. Of course, no one was supposed to be smoking at all, but it was a typical security hole to exploit and it worked this time as well.

He had just made it outside, and was trying to avoid notice by the other illicit smoker–luckily it was drizzling and the other fellow had his head down–when there was a muffled explosion from deep inside the building.

The other fellow turned and ran back inside. Q just ran.

~

Max woke up muzzily– _white room, bright_ –and tried to pull his wits back together.

“–and to think, I only thought her equipment could be used to destroy memories and feelings; I had no idea you could use it to create new ones.”

“She’s the only one who ever managed that level of success.” _That was Doctor Vogel’s voice…_

“That’s why I’m practicing on you.” Max could hear Franz smiling genially as he said it– _the man always looked genial when he was at his worst._

The whine of a drill sent adrenaline coursing through his system and Max managed to bring himself fully awake. He was hanging between two of Franz’s guards. The chair was in front of him–and active: Vogel was secured in it.

She screamed. One of the guards looked away and Max took advantage, kicking out hard, twisting away. The other guard tackled him to the ground…

…which probably saved his life when the room erupted in flames.

~

James had to admit the atmosphere was pleasant. The clinic was well back off the main roads, and even after entering their marked drive they could have been driving on a country highway.

“It’s VERY private,” James said, trying to sound approving instead of concerned. “Anyone would have a hard time following us without notice.”

“Yes. Some of the patients are not well–it is a brain clinic–and the setting is very quiet and peaceful.” Madeline smiled. “I love it, myself. They have a small creek, and a pond… and a waterfall. The walking trails near the–” She cut off suddenly.

“Madeline?”

“Smoke… There’s smoke?”

“They’re running the incinerator?” James hesitantly suggested; from what he recalled almost all medical facilities had one.

“Wrong area, and… too much smoke.”

 _What a lucky break_. “Pull over, we’ll try to hide the car and I’ll investigate, you stay–”

“No!” she said, and then, more softly, “I know some of the staff James, and if there’s a problem…”

“Alright, but stay down and if there’s a problem run back to the car.”

They kept to the roadside, with Bond ready to dive under cover at any moment.

As they crossed over a culvert, Madeline commented, “That’s the creek I mentioned, although the decorative parts are nowhere near the road.”

“At least they have water for firefighting if they need it.”

“There are top of the line fire suppression systems in most areas, it shouldn’t be needed,” Madeline commented, but with the amount of smoke she seemed uncertain.

As they drew closer they could see flames in amidst the smoke.

“That’s not good,” Bond observed drily. _I hope to God Q isn’t in there…_

Madeline was staring in horror, and then her face set into a familiar determined expression. “We have to find out what’s going on… whether this is an accident or… did one of the assassins get here ahead of us somehow?”

Bond frowned, “Could anyone have tapped into your communications?”

“It’s always possible, although I take precautions….” She started moving forward again, more carefully this time.

They moved as quickly as they could, keeping close to cover, but it seemed that everyone was busy dealing with the fire.

There was the distinctive sound of pressurized gas canisters going up from deep inside the building; Bond grabbed Madeline and pulled her down.

“What?!”

“Oxygen going off, at my guess…” Bond said and was relieved when the flying debris didn’t land on them.

“That can’t happen! The entire facility has redundant safeties!”

“Tell the explosions,” Bond said grimly.

He picked his head up and froze.

“Madeline…” his voice came out in a strangled whisper.

“James? What?...”

“Please tell me you see him too…”

She followed his eyes and started swearing, quietly and vehemently.

“Oh, thank God.”

“Thank God?! That sonofabitch should be rotting in an English maximum security jail! Why are you happy?” Madeline hissed.

“I’m happy that I haven’t started seeing hallucinations of HIM, too,” Bond said firmly and targeted his gun.

“Wait!”

“I held off before, for you–”

“–and I was wrong!” she hissed at him. “But we need to know what happened.”

He paused and glanced at her. “Truth. Stay down I’ll see if I can get him.” Bond didn’t wait for a reply, just took off, crouching low to the ground.

A burned and bleeding Franz Oberhauser was being helped by two men to get further away from the building–his one arm missing beneath the elbow and a tourniquet tied above, not moving his legs well at all–so Bond shot both of his aides. They went down neatly and quietly and Franz tumbled to the ground.

Bond kept low and ran up to get a hold of the man’s collar and drag him further away and into cover.

Franz coughed wetly and looked up, his one eye focusing on Bond. “Fitting, I suppose, that you would be here at the end. Still, you won’t outlive me by much.”

“I never expected to live this long, but you are going to live long enough to answer some questions.”

Franz laughed weakly, “No, I don’t think so, but I cost you another love at least…”

“If you mean Madeline…”

Franz opened his mouth and then started making a noise that took Bond quite a while to identify as laughter. “Oh… Oh… She did finish you… You’re completely gone, aren’t you?”

Bond felt a chill deep in whatever he had instead of a soul–other men might have souls; if he had ever had one it had long ago been lost he knew, gambled away piece by piece. “What are you talking about?”

“James?” Madeline’s voice from behind him. “Step away from him.”

He found himself doing it, trusting that she had her reasons, and then stopped. “Which love did you cost me now, Franz?” he almost couldn’t help but ask; as far as he knew there was only Madeline left.

Madeline came up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you, James.” Her hand slid up to his scalp…

He turned and grabbed her hand before it reached its target. “Don’t.”

She looked up at him, puzzled and soft. “Don’t what? Please let go of my hand, you’re hurting me…”

“Don’t touch the scars.”

Very gently she said, “You got them for my sake, James, they don’t bother me.”

“Bravo, my dear…” Franz trailed off, gasping wetly for air. “You win… and his last love is burning alive–”

Bond looked back at the building and suddenly realized who Franz was talking about. “Q?”

“James, let go of my hand, look at me…”

 

_Madeline’s voice in a white room: “Look at me, James. You failed everyone else, but you can rescue me…” Pain, terror, and then peace when he looked at her face… She touched his scalp…_

 

Bond slowly tracked to Franz–clearly dying–“Q isn’t a love of mine, Franz… but if he’s in there, I’ll save him anyway.”

“No, James,” Madeline was pulling her hand away. “You have to stay with me–you rescued me…”

He looked back at her, frowning, trying to remember…

She reached her hand out to his face again and he recoiled backwards. “Don’t TOUCH me…”

“Perhaps… you lost your… pale Knight… after all…” Franz gasped out, his words trailing off into wet gurgles.

Madeline turned and shot him neatly in the chest. “You wasted our resources on your petty vendetta,” Madeline said coolly. “I don’t make those mistakes.”

Bond stared at her and tried to make himself shoot–he couldn’t–so he turned and dove into the underbrush and ran.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is a tree, and a lot of fire

Q ran. He ran until he was certain he was out of sight of the building and then began slowly curving his path around. _There has to be a road in, just a matter of circling the building until I find it_. He carefully considered the surroundings and took off the scrub top, bundling it in with the other things he’d managed to scrounge. The leaves were shades of tan and gold with occasionally bursts of orange or scarlet, the trees brown; his skin was far too pale to blend, but it blended in better than a nearly white scrub top.

By the time he had circled part of the way around the building, there was a LOT of smoke, and people were visible milling about–and yelling. Q heard the oxygen canisters starting to go off and grinned; Bond wasn’t the only one with a penchant for explosions–not even remotely.

Q saw a few guards–they were wearing the same uniforms as his guards had worn–moving purposefully through the trees, and he considered: _they seemed to be searching through the bushes, looking down…_

Q looked up at the rather sizable tree nearby.

“Good thing I used to climb buildings, and kept up on my parkour…” Q muttered to himself. _Trees are easier to climb than buildings, right?_

He cursed himself repeatedly for not taking any wilderness courses once he joined MI6–because climbing a tree was emphatically UN-like climbing brick or even concrete walls–but he made it up to the branches: from there it was easier. Q climbed up until he was fairly certain he was hidden from any searches and began inventorying the few possessions he’d managed to acquire.

“…should have taken the sex toys, probably could have beaten someone to death with a few of them…” he muttered as he made sure the knife was secure and the gun wouldn’t slip no matter how he had to climb. Q settled himself carefully in the tree branches, and waited.

~

Bond let his body run on autopilot: duck, evade, stay low–it was body memory by now. _Madeline… Madeline was Spectre… What had she done to me?_

He wound up shivering, curled under a bit of brush with a blinding migraine that seemed to have come on out of nowhere.

_Franz calling himself the author of all his misfortune…_

_Madeline rescuing him from the chair…_

_No… Q’s watch… Madeline threw it… at Franz?_

_A sudden flash of a white room and Madeline with technicians–and no Franz–and pain… so much pain…_

“Alive and unharmed or I’ll have your heads!” Madeline’s voice, cool and calm– _too close._

Bond moved stealthily away from the voice. He could barely see for the spots dancing in front of his eyes, and the landscape was blurring, but he gritted his teeth and kept going, low to the ground, moving more by touch than sight.

_I have to get away from her… I have to find her and save her…_

_Madeline_ … Madeline was brave, and peaceful, and sad, and he had to save her… Madeline was cool and calm, and watched him being tortured by Franz without breaking down…

_Had she?_

Or was she the one who had tortured him–the pain ceasing when she touched him, or he looked at her face…

Franz… had been wounded… by Madeline throwing the watch…

The watch Q gave him…

Q hid his Smart Blood, gave him forty-eight hours head start… helped him…

Why would Franz think Q was one of his doomed loves?

A shape moved in front of him, and he threw himself to the side just a moment too late. The familiar sensation of a bullet wrenched a groan from him and he stumbled, but the pain seemed to help clear his mind–just a bit. He lay still.

“Intruder down.” A voice close by. Bond opened one eye enough to see a pair of boots.

A voice through a radio: “Damn it! There’s too many people out there and one of them may be our boss. Bring him to the parking lot; we have triage set up there.”

“Right, sir.”

Bond let himself be pulled up limply from the ground by the man before punching him in the gut. As the man doubled over, he cut his throat and moved toward the building: if they were evacuating and triage was in the parking lot, it would be less likely to find guards there.

Bond eventually found himself leaning on a large tree. He needed to tend to his wound before he lost any more blood–it wasn’t affecting his breathing at least.

A rustle overhead was all the warning he had before a slim figure dropped in front of him. He raised his gun to fire and it was _M… Vesper… Q…_ Everything went black.

~

Max rolled out from under the guard’s body and crawled for the exit. He made it to the hallway and staggered into the next door–a supply closet–to catch his breath. He must have passed out, because when he woke up slumped in the closet the alarms were sounding and a recorded voice was reminding everyone to proceed to emergency stations…

_Q… Q was chained in his room…_

Max stepped into the hallway and considered: _smoke was filling the hallway, people were evacuating, the nearest door out was to the left, Q’s room was to the right…_

Max took a step to the left and then reconsidered: Q wasn’t just a good lay, he was the best computer expert in the business; he knew MI6 computers like the back of his hand, and if Max was going to stay alive in this snake pit…

He spun and raced back toward Q’s room.

…

He had to shoot two people who were evidently loyal to Franz, as well as avoiding some areas that were choked with smoke or actually aflame, before he got back to the room.

“Oh, Fuck me!” Max stared at the crumpled body of a guard lying next to the bed, blood coagulating and pooled around him.

Max carefully walked wide around the body and the bed, and stared at the locked collar that was set–still attached to the chain–on the bed…

“Oh, you absolutely brilliant minx…” Max couldn’t help but smile. “I should have shot you when I had the chance, but damn…”

Max went out the nearest door and began to work his way around the building.

~

Q had been up in the tree, listening to the sounds of fire and explosions and occasional gunfire when he heard a stumbling motion below him.

He looked down to see a familiar thatch of blond hair–plus twigs, leaves, and an artful smudge of dirt–and was down the tree in a flash.

Bond turned–his usually sharp eyes unfocused and with that peculiar set between the brows that Q knew meant he was in severe pain no matter how hard he tried not to show it–and pointed his gun straight at him.

Q’s throat went dry and he froze, staring wide-eyed: in that moment his ability to think simply stopped.

Bond’s finger twitched slightly away from the trigger and his eyes cleared just a bit. “Q? Are you real…?” he muttered and then slumped to the ground.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit…” Q stared at Bond lying crumpled in a heap. After shaking himself free of the paralysis induced by having James Bond aim a gun at you, Q carefully rolled him over.

He was bleeding sluggishly from his side…

 _Ideally I’d get him back into a medical facility…_ Q looked back over his shoulder to see that the fire had now entirely engulfed this part of the building. They would have to move, and soon, for all that the bulk of the tree was sheltering them from the heat right now.

“Well, I can’t carry you up a tree, Bond,” Q grumbled, “for all that you could probably carry me.”

Q reached down to the bundle of belongings and began cutting strips from his scrub top using the knife he’d taken from the guard. As best as he could, he bandaged the wound, although it looked like it had mostly grazed along his ribs.

 _No way of knowing if he broke a rib or punctured a lung, but… that never stopped him before._ “You’re supposed to be bulletproof, Bond.”

Without opening his eyes, Bond said very softly, “Never been bulletproof… just… bad at dying.”

“Oh, thank God… I can’t get you up the tree, and I can’t carry you, Bond.”

“Give me a minute…”

“Can you open your eyes?” Q asked worriedly, trying to think about how you checked for concussions.

“Not really. Don’t trust them anyway right now.” Bond began to struggle to his feet; Q helped him up. Bond leaned heavily on him. “Madeline… was after me.”

“Madeline… Doctor Swann? Is she really…?”

“I don’t know what she is, but I don’t think now is a good time to find out.” Bond shifted his weight back mostly onto his own feet. “You’re stronger than you look…”

“Yes, well, I keep myself fit.” Q started moving carefully; Bond moved along as gracefully as a dance partner. “I’m going to be your eyes then?”

“Until I can trust what I’m seeing? Yes. Also, Madeline…” He paused for a long while and they moved along in silence until he continued, “I think things happened differently than I remembered before–anyway, I can’t trust some of my memory, and I can’t trust my eyes, but my ears work fine.”

“Other than ‘away from the fire and the armed people’, any idea where we are going?”

“Find the creek… There’s a creek, waterfall, and pond, with a walking path…”

Q looked back at the still visible orange glow of the fire. “Water might be a good idea, but it’s going to get cold soon.”

“Trust me.”

“I always have.”

After a while Bond placed his hand flat against Q’s chest. “Wait…” He cocked his head intently, then he smiled. “This way,” he said, keeping an arm around Q but clearly heading off slightly to one side.

Q helped as the terrain became a bit rougher and then had to stop. “It’s brambles ahead…”

Bond cocked his head again and moved further off to one side… Then Q heard it too: water.

Q and Bond had to stop and rest a few times, but eventually they came through a dense brush and stumbled–literally–onto a flat and well maintained trail with a waterfall just visible off to one side.

Bond opened his eyes by reflex when he tumbled, and when he looked up he saw Vesper standing on a trail looking worried and urging him to hurry… He closed his eyes again.

As Q got under his arm and they got back to their feet, Bond asked, “Do you see a walking path? Rather decorative?”

“Pleasant, a bit rustic maybe, but at least it’s clear and flat,” Q answered.

“Is anyone there?”

“Uh... No…”

“Good. Follow the trail as long as it goes along the creek, then we follow the creek. My car is parked near where the creek intersects the drive in.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swans are elegant, beautiful, and graceful, but they are still dangerous creatures

Bond and Q walked carefully along the path paralleling the creek.

“What do you see when you open your eyes?” Q asked a bit hesitantly.

“Usually? Just… whatever you see, I guess.” Bond sighed and opened his eyes carefully. “Right now? I see a lot of shrubs, trees, a creek, and a dirt path, but back when we first found it? I saw Vesper…”

“She… was…” Q stumbled over words; he’d read Bond’s file, whether he was supposed to or not.

“Someone I felt guilty about, someone I couldn’t save…” Bond winced. “If… If some of my new recollections are true? Madeline did something to my brain, not Franz… or maybe they both did? But the one thing I remember now is her looking down at me and saying ‘You couldn’t save them, but you can save me’–and then the pain stopped.”

“Buggering fuck…” Q stared at him, appalled.

Bond looked over at him, and saw M glaring at him from over Q’s shoulder. “Like right now, M–the old M–is standing there tapping her watch and glaring at me.” He nodded and then set back to moving. “Another woman I couldn’t save.”

“So… we have Madeline, who Max said was the Pale Queen, and was bringing you here–he was going to kill her–and Max? I have no idea where he was when everything went off, but the guard said he was in a ‘meeting he wouldn’t leave alive’, so I guess he thought–”

Bond interrupted, “Guard?”

“Where I got the gun and the knife… A guard came in, said the cameras were off, and…” Q looked away and kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “He was going to rape me.”

Bond’s hand around his shoulder squeezed gently. “Well, you got away… I hope you didn’t have to deal with too much.”

“I feigned interest, got him to unlock the handcuffs, and swiped his boot knife–killed him with it.” Q found himself shivering. “How very odd, I was alright at the time…”

Bond pulled them both off the trail and sat down with him behind a bush. “Reaction… You were busy surviving at the time. Was that your first up close kill?” Bond sounded understanding, and kept his arm around him.

“Maybe.” Q let himself be pulled into a comforting arm. “I hurt someone pretty bad before–before MI6–but… I don’t know if they died.” Q found it easier to talk into Bond’s shoulder; Bond didn’t seem to mind. “I’ve killed people by remote: drones, lasers, remote detonation… things like that.”

“Then that was your first personal kill. I threw up, I think… and I got blackout drunk when I got home–I don’t recommend that.”

Q lifted his head and stared at him: familiar blue eyes looked back, crinkling at the corners the way they did when he was amused.

“You? Threw up? It bothered you? But…”

“I’d killed in combat, Q, but it’s different: very few people can kill someone up close and personal and not… suffer for it. The Double Os are selected for being able to do it and get on with the mission, but your first time… If it isn’t hard on you, at least at first, they usually end up sending another Double O to take you down… eventually.” Bond shrugged. “I don’t even remember, now, why I was bothered… but I know that I was, and that I fell apart for a bit after the mission.”

“Well,” Q took a deep breath, “I’ll endeavor to keep it together until we get out of here.”

“It would help,” Bond admitted drily. He was actually hellaciously impressed–he’d never thought Q could handle himself this well in the field–but making a fuss would probably just keep him thinking about it.

Bond started to get up and went back down quickly, holding a finger to his lips. He closed his eyes and listened intently; Q listened too, but didn’t hear anything for almost a minute, then he heard soft voices and movement. He tapped Bond’s arm and when Bond opened his eyes he nodded and touched his ear.

They waited quietly until the soft voices came very close on the path and they could see two guards: one was talking quietly into a radio.

“No, no sign of anyone.”

They couldn’t hear a response, but the one with the radio nodded and gestured onward at the other one. They waited until they were well past and then hurried off down the trail.

“I thought you would kill them,” Q finally said after a while. Bond was keeping his eyes open but kept a hand on Q, as though he didn’t entirely trust his eyes to keep track of him.

“Radio contact gets cut off, alarms go off. It’s better if they don’t have any idea where we are.”

“That makes sense.” Q smiled. “Sometimes you have to know when NOT to pull a trigger…”

“Hard to tell in your pajamas,” Bond answered immediately and smiled faintly. “I was thinking about that conversation on the drive here.” He froze as he saw M with an utterly exasperated expression ahead of them. Bond pulled Q off the path and they both went to the ground.

Q mouthed “What?” at Bond; Bond just made a shrugging gesture and lay still for a while before getting up slowly–no sign of M. They continued.

“Looks like we lose the trail,” Bond said as the trail went over a bridge and out of sight away from the creek.

They followed the creek as best they could, although often they had to walk further away from it to avoid tangled brush or brambles. Q started shivering and Bond swore quietly, “I’m sorry Q, I wasn’t thinking.” He took off his jacket.

“You lost a lot of blood, I didn’t. Please keep it.”

“I’m a ruddy furnace, honest,” Bond said draping the–admittedly–warm jacket around Q. Bond looked carefully at him and realized that his lips were almost blue with cold, and he was only wearing thin scrub pants. “I’m not used to looking after Quartermasters: you have to tell me that you’re cold, or whatever.”

“You did well enough when I was sick.”

Bond hesitated. “When you were sick?”

“You brought me tea, and take out soup–well, you broke into my house…” Q trailed off. “You… Do you… Do you not remember?”

Bond shook his head slowly. “I suspect a great deal of my memory was tampered with, Q,” he said quietly. “The problem is, how can I tell?” After a pause to go well out of their way in order to get around a particularly nasty patch of bramble, he continued, “Breaking into your house? Well, it sounds like something I might do: I broke into M’s house, after all.”

“You… got back from a mission, and found out I was ill…” Q was shaken. “You… broke in, brought me soup and tea… Ended up running out to get cat food for the cats… You came back the next day and kept me company for a bit–said you were plague-proof because you’d had the plague…”

Bond stopped and leaned on a small tree. Images flickered of a room crowded with broken computer parts and odd things: an incongruous hula hoop leaning against the wall.

“Do… Do you have a hula hoop in your house?” Bond asked finally.

“Yeeess?” Q reached out toward Bond’s face and Bond reacted faster than a snake, snapping his hand out and grabbing Q’s hand.

“Don’t. She… She would touch my scalp, where the scars are… and… just don’t.”

Q frowned, “Alright.” He pulled his hand back. “Can I touch you anywhere else?”

“Yes,” Bond said thoughtfully. “Just not… not like that.”

Q looped an arm around Bond to help him along again, since he seemed less steady. “Yes, I have a hoop: it’s weighted, I use it for gymnastics. You really didn’t remember?”

“No,” Bond answered shortly. “Not a bit.”

Q caught sight of a roadway between the trees, and Bond turned them to walk parallel to the road.

The car was in sight when Bond finally said, “Franz said you were… that he’d cost me one more lost love, that you were…” Bond glanced over at Q, who was very much NOT looking at him. “Please tell me I haven’t forgotten more than that?”

“Nothing happened between us, not that way–among other things, I was rather ill–but… I had thought, perhaps–”

“I knew you’d come back, James.” Madeline’s voice caused Q to stop and Bond to snap his head to the car.

Madeline was standing on the far side of the car, smiling, a gun held loosely down by her side. There were two guards nearby, looking warily at Bond and Q.

“Madeline…” Bond’s voice came out in a low growl.

“Doctor Swann…” Q said, as calmly as he could manage. “Bond has been having a lot of problems, and he was shot… We should get him to the hospital.”

“Look at me, James…” Madeline said, continuing to smile. “Can you come to me? Please? I need you…”

Bond took a step forward and then yanked his head to the side and aimed his gun at the two guards. “I rather dearly want to shoot you, Madeline, but if you walk away right now…”

“You’re not well, James, you said that yourself… You can’t trust yourself…”

Bond’s hand shook slightly–he couldn’t trust his own memories, he… He clutched for something to be certain of and found it. “I can trust Q.”

Madeline lost her smile and brought her pistol up. “Don’t make me waste all that work, James: look at me…”

Q shot her. She didn’t see him take aim or fire: like everyone else, she had been watching Bond.

Bond shot the two guards without thinking as Madeline’s gun fired in his direction, but the bullet went wide.

She brought her other hand up slowly to her chest and stared as her fingers came away coated in blood. She turned and looked at Q and started to bring the gun around to fire at him when Bond finally managed to bring himself to shoot her, catching her neatly in the side of the head. She went down in a spray of blood that fanned around her head like an obscene halo…

Bond collapsed.

_M, dying in his arms… her blood everywhere…_

_Vesper… floating dead with her hair drifting around her face like a halo…_

_Madeline, a halo of blood around her as she smiled down at him… and it was so very peaceful…_

~

Q could only stare in horror as Madeline didn’t die. He’d shot her right in the chest and now she was aiming at him and he was going to die and weren’t people supposed to fall down when you shot them?

And then Bond fired and there was a spray of blood and… other things… and he was fairly certain he screamed.

Bond collapsed. _Was he shot? No…_

“Please Bond, please get up?” Q tried to haul him over to the car, but the bastard was heavy!

“That’s going to be heard, gun shots…” Q said, but Bond was curled in on himself and not responding.

Q took a deep breath and pulled his quartermaster voice on: “Double O Seven, report! There are hostiles in your area…”

Bond stirred slightly and pulled a hand to one ear–listening for an earpiece…

“I’ve got a car waiting for you, Double O Seven, I need you to finish the job and get us out of here…”

Bond shook himself as he tried to get to his feet and Q helped pull him up. “Keys, Bond?”

Bond handed him a set of keys and Q got Bond to the passenger seat. He raced to the driver’s seat and muttered a heartfelt prayer for a safe escape to anyone who happened to be listening.

“I hope you can drive, Q,” Bond said rather tiredly as Q backed the car up and turned it around.

“We test drive the cars that we build before you lot destroy them, so yes, I can,” Q accelerated away. “What I CAN’T do is navigate without a GPS.”

“The eReader you sent me is in your pocket… the jacket.” Bond held out his hand.

Q managed to fish it out without quite sending them off the road–quite.

“Great God, I thought you said you could DRIVE!” Bond said, suddenly much more alert.

“Closed test track and not fishing in my pocket, yes,” Q said, wrestling the car back into its lane.

“Please don’t kill us, Q, I owe you dinner,” Bond said as he managed to get the GPS navigation running.

“…you’re rather odd, Bond.”

“Says the man with an exercise Hula Hoop next to enough parts to build Skynet,” Bond retorted with a faint smile.

Q shook his head and kept driving.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Max?

Max Denbigh found a dead guard–well, dying; Max just helped him along–and took his radio and gun. It didn’t take long to find out that Franz had made it out of the building, barely alive, and then been found dead…

The curious part was he was found shot to death, along with his two guards.

_Now who did that? My people? Q? …or… Bond? Madeline had been on her way here with him… Probably Bond, which meant that a very dangerous pet on a very short leash was running around armed._

Max continued carefully around the building. His burns were superficial, but they still hurt, and he desperately wanted to just go to the medical station and get some pain killers…

But by now his people would be dead, and everyone else was at loose ends or working for Franz or Madeline–who knew how many would throw in behind him? _Obviously, if she was dead, too: all of them._

By pure happenstance he spotted a scrap of something near a bush and went to investigate. It was just a bit of paper, but there was evidence that people had been here, recently, and the imprint of soft slippers and a pair of dress shoes. Max continued more carefully, trying to figure it out.

When the path diverged from the creek, he noticed that there were some disrupted branches, as though… _as though someone had been following the creek…_

Max’s curiosity got the best of him and he followed. All along the creek there was clear evidence that someone had been this way, and recently: they took the easier path when possible, avoiding the worst over growth. Along the way there was a very damp spot and he could clearly make out the imprint of dress shoes and… _someone wearing socks or slippers over bare feet?_ He could just make out toe imprints. He crouched down carefully and stared at them. _Who would be wearing just socks?_

_Q… My darling, clever, resourceful Q would be wearing just socks, or operating slippers, or whatever he could have found, but who would he be with…?_

_Oh, no… Oh, you sodding bastard… You just have to ruin everything don’t you? Did Madeline lose him? Or_ … Max picked up the pace.

He had slowed his progress, being in sight of the road, when he heard gunfire and threw himself flat. After just a slight pause, he heard a single shot.

_That… was far too close by._

Max slowly got up as he heard Q’s voice; he couldn’t make out the words. He got to the road in time to see a car drive away, leaving… quite a number of bodies, including Madeline.

“My dear,” Max said idly in Madeline’s direction–it was plainly obvious she was dead–“You certainly seem to have brought the cat amongst the pigeons, haven’t you? Or perhaps it was the fox to the henhouse… One of those phrases–” He was interrupted by a groan. Max spun and realized that one of the guards was still alive; he hurried over.

“Who shot her? Who got away?”

“Bond…” The man clutched at Max and grimaced. “Bond and some… boy…”

Max considered finishing the man off, but decided that verification that HE hadn’t done it would go a long way toward consolidating things with the employees…

He activated the radio. “This is Max Denbigh. I have heard that Franz Oberhouser is dead, and I have just found Madeline Swann, killed by her own man. One of her guards is still alive and needs medical…”–he smirked as he imagined the responses–“so I suggest you get your loyalties in line and come retrieve him.”

 _The Black King takes the board…_ He’d deal with the rebellious pieces later.

~

They drove, with Bond occasionally giving directions to lose any possible tail until they got to someplace that Bond knew wouldn’t ask any questions.

Q looked a bit askance when they drove up to a building that resembled a country club of some sort, but the valet didn’t even raise an eyebrow at them: Bond bloody and dirty in an expensive suit; Q in something like pajama pants and slippers clutching a bundle of cloth. The desk clerk–a very attractive lady that seemed FAR too familiar with Bond under a different name–simply looked envious of Q and handed over the keys to a room. Q kept his mouth shut on the elevator, and the bellhop never even looked twice at them as he showed them to the room.

“Just how private is this?” Q asked once they were alone, not sure how freely he could speak.

“I’ve brought people here before; it’s very discreet.” Bond pulled a frequency scanner out of his pocket and then fumbled with it.

“Here, let me… Why don’t you get a bath?” Q suggested as he carefully took the electronics away from the man who fed custom firearms to Komodo dragons. “For that matter, let me have that eReader back BEFORE you get near water…”

“It’s not waterproof?” Bond asked with an attempt at levity. “You don’t know me very well…” Bond trailed off, not wanting to call him Q until the room was secured.

“Shoo, I’ll join you in a minute,” Q said and began checking the rooms.

…

Q came into the bathroom and paused: Bond was stripped naked, leaning on the sink while the shower ran and filled the room with steam.

“You’ve… lost some weight,” Q finally managed to say.

“Have I? Comes of not sleeping well, I suppose… and Madeline…” He shook his head.

“Everything is clear as far as I can tell, including the bathroom,” Q finally said. “I would love a warm shower, and I suspect you need proper tending for that gunshot… So how are we going to manage this?”

“I’ll just call down for bandages,” Bond said casually, as though that was just a thing you did.

“Just call down…” Q pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you think they might ASK?”

Bond laughed, “No.” He looked Q up and down. “I’m too tired to make a pass at you–care to share a shower anyway?”

Q smiled, “I’m still coming down off of everything, so I doubt I would be interested… right now… even if you did make a pass, but I suspect we both need the support so…” He peeled off the scrub pants and slippers, and then took off the ankle holster and knife.

Bond was looking approvingly at him when he suddenly raised an eyebrow. “You have a tattoo?”

“Errr… yes?”

“I could never get one,” Bond said thoughtfully. “Too identifiable. Maybe now that I’m retired–if…” he trailed off.

“I’d refer you to my tattoo artist, but they aren’t in business anymore,” Q stepped into the shower. “My God, this shower is huge!”

“Meant for two, or more,” Bond agreed as he stepped in.

Q rather awkwardly tried to shower without staring at… anything. Bond just snorted. “I was in the Navy: you get over body shyness fast.”

“I wasn’t,” Q sighed, “and I… rather had a crush on you… but being coworkers it’s… awkward.”

“I noticed.” Bond grabbed the washcloth out of Q’s hands and casually ordered him to face the wall; Q did without questioning. Bond started rubbing soap…

“Ooooh…” Q damn near moaned, “Why did you never tell me you knew massage?”

“You never asked?” Bond was sounding–and feeling–a bit more his usual cheeky self.

After a while, Q helped him with the wound and washed Bond’s back, and they bandaged it temporarily with a clean bit from Bond’s shirt.

Bond did, in fact, just call down to the front desk and ask for “a suture kit, bandages…” He listened, then said, “Yes, if you have it, that would be lovely. Oh, and I’ll give the man the measurements–we’ll need to order in new clothes.”

After he hung up, Q asked, “Care to tell me how this works? Or is it just more Bond magic that you can order room service sutures…” He frowned, not entirely joking as he asked, “Do you actually need to sacrifice my equipment for this? It’s sorcery, isn’t it…”

Bond started laughing, and then ended up holding his side, grinning. “Get a bathrobe from the closet and get the med kit when they arrive, will you? Oh, and I ordered food when we checked in.”

…

The med kit–field surgery bag, by the look of it–arrived almost at the same time as dinner.

“Have you ever had to stitch a wound?” Bond asked.

“No,” Q admitted, “but… uh… they have a surgical stapler in that kit.”

“So?”

“That I know how to use.”

Bond stared at him. “WHY do you know how to use a surgical stapler?”

“I think…” Q sighed, “BDSM clubs, mostly.”

Bond started snickering. “That’s exactly why I can call down for sutures and why there is a surgical stapler in the bag: it’s a very discreet and rather intense club.”

“Oh! Oh, you WANKER! Why didn’t you just say so? I could have played your sub…”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “You’re a submissive?” _Not what I would have guessed._

“Not…” Q frowned. “I think we should have this discussion after we get you patched up.”

Bond agreed and Q mostly handed him things while he stitched himself up; Q found his ability to do that rather unsettling.

Afterwards, they sat down to eat and Q decided to get it out of the way. “Are you actually familiar with the scene or not?” Bond nodded while eating with a rather single-minded determination. “I’m a switch. I use submission as a way to deal with high stress situations where I… where I just can’t make a mistake.”

“Like being Quartermaster?”

“Yes.” Q looked at him thoughtfully: he didn’t look upset or judgmental. “You’re okay with that?”

“Beats drinking yourself into liver failure like a lot of people I know.”

“It’s… how I knew Max–Max Denbigh. He… I guess he died in the fire...”

“Maybe,” Bond admitted, “but you said the guard told you he was being killed? By Franz, I suspect.”

Q nodded. “We… had a past, a long time ago–before MI6.”

“Something to talk about when we’re safe and sound back in England,” Bond said firmly. “For right now, I want to eat, and sleep, and then sleep some more.”

“Sounds lovely,” Q admitted.

Bond looked at him with a smirk that was almost the old Bond again. “Then after that, maybe you could go over your wild and wicked past, Quartermaster, and tell me about that tattoo.”

“I… think I would like that, Double Oh Seven…”

It wasn’t long before they were both sound asleep, curled up together in the ridiculously oversized bed.

Bond had a dream about M, and Vesper, in happier days, and the smell of heather and wood smoke. He turned and buried his nose in Q’s hair and wrapped his arms around him and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a unexpectedly fun challenge.  
> yes i got a completely different 00Q plot bunny in my head half way through which i may write, and yes, i will probably write a sequel to this.


End file.
